


Tennis Shorts

by ConceptaDecency



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Deadly Sins Garak/Bashir Fest, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Post-Canon Cardassia, Quickies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConceptaDecency/pseuds/ConceptaDecency
Summary: Cardassians don't do quickies. Julian helps Garak get better at them.





	Tennis Shorts

**Author's Note:**

> References to Cardassian reproduction and sex adapted from [Speculative Cardassian Reproductive Xenobiology](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719479%E2%80%9D%20rel=) by tinsnip.

Such a garment doesn’t exist on Cardassia. Garak claims they are offensive to the Cardassian senses of aesthetics — so gaudy — and modesty — so short and revealing. But the feature he never comments on and yet seems to most capture his attention is their ease of removal. So utilitarian. All Cardassian clothes, in a way that is so utterly and unsurprisingly Cardassian, have a never-ending series of intricate clasps and ties and buttons and zips, half of them hidden, and taking anything off is a chore. (Or sometimes an adventure.) But a piece of clothing that can be entirely removed with a firm yank? That is apparently so offensive to Garak that he feels the need to remove them from his sight whenever Julian has the audacity to wear them in his presence. 

And that explains how Julian finds himself this sultry evening, sweating, naked, bent over the the kitchen table, shorts crumpled and forgotten in a corner (Garak has proclaimed that such an unworthy garment doesn’t warrant folding, especially when there are more pressing tasks to be taken care of), two scaled hands gripping his shoulders and a considerable length of slick Cardassian _prUt_ hammering into his arse. It’s hard — that is to say, it’s difficult, what with the way Garak’s pistoning away at his prostate — but he’s trying to be as quiet as possible, mostly so as not to scandalise the neighbours (the windows are open to catch the breeze, and he hopes the occasional moans and whimpers that escape are not recognisable as human sex noises to the more provincial Cardassians that make up most of their neighbourhood) but also so he can hear the _graniss_ if it boils over. Garak has promised to keep an eye on it, since in this position Julian can hardly be expected to, but Garak clearly has other things on his mind and is not to be trusted with the task. 

Garak’s also promised that he can finish in the time it takes to boil _graniss_ , but this Julian has a little more faith in. Sure, Garak’s made him late for tennis matches, and Julian’s learned that if Garak is home and time is tight, it’s better to wear _anything else_ to the Federation Rec Centre and change into his tennis gear there. Julian in tennis shorts is apparently a red flag to a bull, and Garak when he’s feeling amorous is a honey-tongued liar, at least when it comes to convincing Julian that of course there’s enough time, my dear. So these days the shorts are only worn with Certain Intention. 

However. Garak _is_ getting better at quickies (a concept as un-Cardassian as practical sportswear, apparently, but one that Garak’s admitted can be quite an acceptable substitute when modern life simply doesn’t leave time for the marathon sessions he claims are more usual for his people). He tends to perform better if there's a bit of frisson, though. That's why Julian deliberately provoked him, first by having nothing on but his shorts (and a very coy grin), and then by starting the _graniss_ on the boil the very moment he heard Garak key in his front door code, and finally by protesting that there was _no way_ Garak could finish in the time it took to cook the _graniss_ , he simply wouldn't believe it was possible, not until he'd seen it with his own eyes. 

He'd expected a spirited reaction to the challenge, but the swiftness with which he'd found himself, his face pressed into the fine linen tablecloth, being rhythmically proven _very_ wrong by his enthusiastic Cardassian boyfriend, did take him a little by surprise.

And it certainly looks like he'll be proven wrong. There are fifty-three seconds left to go until the _graniss_ is done, but Garak’s breathing is starting to get staggery and his thrusting more intense. He’s nearly there, and Julian knows how to push him over the edge. He closes his eyes and allows himself to let go just a little. Garak rams into him hard enough to shake the table and Julian lets loose with a moan that is, embarrassingly, a fair bit louder than he’d intended. But it works a treat. The aural stimulation is just the thing Garak needs. He judders and shudders and gasps and roars, Cardassian sounds that the neighbours would definitely recognise as those of sexual climax, except that at that very moment the pot boils over, and the hisses from the water meeting the red-hot element blanket Garak's ululations. Somewhat. Hopefully. A couple more thrusts and grunts and Garak collapses onto Julian’s back as the pot merrily spits and sizzles behind them. There’s going to be a starchy, soupy mess on the stovetop, but Garak, being the party responsible, really, is going to be cleaning it up, so Julian sees no reason to rush this moment. Garak can take the lead for now.

Garak rests his head for a few beats on Julian’s sweaty back, then kisses him between the shoulder blades and gently pulls out. The kitchen is so small that he only needs half a step to be able to take the lid off the pot and give it a stir. "It's ready," he proclaims. 

“Congratulations, Elim,” Julian says. "I guess I was wrong." He knows it's ready. He’s been counting down since he added the vegetable to the boiling water, and it’s actually been cooking away for exactly the right amount of time. It needs to be removed from the heat and drained soon, though, or it risks becoming an unpalatably soft mess.

Julian is still splayed over the table. He hears Garak turn off the element and remove the pot from the heat, but instead of draining it, Garak turns back to Julian and presses another kiss to his back. “Thank you, darling." Another kiss. "But what about you?” he asks in the same honeyed voice he uses to make Julian late for tennis.

Julian is hard as a rock, but the _graniss_ is ready and you really have to eat that stuff right away. “I can wait until after dinner, Elim," Julian says valiantly, standing up and turning to face Garak. "Just let me...” 

He doesn’t finish the thought, though, because Garak has dropped to his knees and is blinking up 'innocently' as he takes Julian into his mouth. He sheaths Julian's sweaty cock with one hand, sliding up and down as he swirls and wets the head with his roughly-textured tongue. Julian gasps and leans back on the table for support. A rivulet of Cardassian semen, less viscous than human, joins the sweat on Julian's inner thigh in trickling down his leg to his foot and then the floor. Well. That’s more mess for Garak to clean up. 

“Nonsense, Julian.” Julian's cock shines with sweat and spit, dark against Garak's pale cheek, where's he's placed it momentarily so that he can speak. “Dinner can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, the _graniss_ won't be going to waste, but still, on Cardassia it's a sin to deliberately ruin food (shows lack of respect to the State that provided it). That sin becomes a deadly one if it's because you're too busy orally pleasuring your human boyfriend.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos! They are most welcome.


End file.
